


Salt in a Wound

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fellowship rests in Lothlórien. Confusion ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt in a Wound

"I do not seek victory, or the glory of Gondor," Aragorn replied mildly, "but the survival of our people." Aragorn stretched his legs out further, braced as he was against an ancient tree.

"And of your pretty elves, of course," Boromir nearly spat in return, barely pausing in his pacing. "Come by it, where is Legolas?" He whirled on Aragorn. "I have not seen him for days." 

"He takes solace in his own way. You should speak of the Eldar with more respect in this place." Aragorn looked away to tap out his pipe.

"You school me in manners?" Boromir leaned down and spoke more confidentially through his teeth, "Perhaps he tires of you."

Intense eyes flicked to his and Boromir started back a step. Aragorn smiled a tiny, rueful smile. "I am certain that he does. No matter the bathing, we smell harsh, no matter the whisper, our speech grates. He is called here by duty and Thranduil's loyalty to Gandalf. What more you see is a corruption of your mind."

Boromir straightened and crossed his arms. "I see you look at him," he challenged with a jut of his chin.

Aragorn shrugged. "I see you look at Frodo as though you would devour him whole. Should I seek him in your stewpot?"

Sputtering, Boromir took himself off down the path. He had reached the edge of Aragorn's sight before he stomped back. "Of course I watch the Ringbearer. He carries that on which all depends!"

Studying Boromir for a moment longer, Aragorn nodded. "Aye, he does. But it is not what you think. It is the heart of him on which all depends."

"You've gone and changed the subject."

"Ah. Remind me again of what we were speaking?"

"The way you look at our elf."

Aragorn sighed. "What is it to you? Or should I ask, what is _he_ to you that you persist in this line of thinking?"

Taken aback again, Boromir kicked at the fire pit. "That is not the point at all." Aragorn did not respond, merely smoked quietly. In a slightly calmer voice, Boromir elaborated. "He is salt in my wounds."

Aragorn looked up in surprise. "How so? He is nothing but solicitous with you."

Boromir frowned. "His kind do not face extinction in this war. The distant gods favor them over us, for what reason we know not, and there festers the wound. Already, they will live on, immortal. They will retreat to Valinor where we are forbidden to follow, as Sauron darkens all of Middle Earth. Legolas alone travels into peril with us, the son that a great King of armies could spare us as a token. His presence is an insult to our cause."

Aragorn was on his feet, pipe clattering against the tree roots. "How dare you," he raged, grabbing Boromir by the shoulders. "You bring your poison into this place of protection. It is no wonder Legolas stays away. Did Denethor send you to council because he could spare you?" He pushed Boromir from him and stalked away into the forest.

Shocked at Aragorn's outburst, Boromir stood and looked at the pipe, a last thin wisp of smoke curling upward before the spark died.  
*******

An hour or so later, Boromir went to Gimli. "Know you where Legolas has got himself off to?" he asked.

Gimli squinted at the angle of the sun. "Probably singing. Perhaps asleep by now. He's been sleeping more than eating here in the wood."

"He hardly sleeps at all, I thought. They do not need much sleep." Boromir frowned.

"Lad, your powers of observation are lacking. He does not sleep on the road so that we may. You won't catch me touting that to his face, of course--'twould ruin the banter between us--but I mark it."

Boromir considered this, his expression of worry deepening. "I need to speak with him. Rather urgently."

Gimli rose from his polishing. "Aye. I'll take you. I owe him a proper insult for a barb of this morning. Took me some time to find a worthy trade," he said, chuckling darkly.

They walked a good furlong through the trees. Gimli paused and called upward. "Come down you great-great-grand-nephew of a cursed Ring-smith!"

The quiet persisted for a few moments, then there was a faint rustling above and Legolas dropped to his feet before them. "It took you most of the day to think of that?" he asked, good-naturedly. Gimli scowled. "It is not bad, actually. As the identity of the assisting Ring-smiths is a matter for much speculation, and the relative in question was a wright of some eccentricity of blood who disappeared at approximately the right time, I cannot outright deny it. Furthermore, you have bemused me so that I cannot think of a worthy riposte." He was rewarded with a broad, dwarven grin and a slug on the small of his back. Legolas turned his attention to Boromir, his expression wary. He did not speak.

"I asked him to bring me to you so that we could speak." Boromir glanced to Gimli. "Master Gimli, it would be helpful if you could give us a few moments to talk."

"Ah. You may have more than that. It is a perfect opportunity to find a bite and a brew. I will see you at our Lady's ever-generous table." Gimli went back the way they had come, humming merrily.

Legolas watched him go with a flicker of consternation. "How may I be of help?" Legolas said at last, cool and reserved, turning his gaze on Boromir.

"I have behaved badly, it seems, with regard to you." 

"I had not noticed," Legolas replied graciously.

"Your friend, Aragorn, has set me straight. With a comparison I had rather he had not made. In any event, I have realized my error and wish to ask your forgiveness." The son of the Steward of Gondor bowed, and he did not often bow to any other than his father. 

"It is freely given," replied Legolas, reaching out to lighly touch Boromir's elbow. The man straightened in time to catch a dazzling smile. "I have a suggestion, though, if you would not consider me too forward for it."

"Speak," Boromir managed, nervously running a hand through his hair.

"You see something that does not exist in order to avoid facing that which you would rather not see."

Boromir cleared his throat. "I have never had cleverness with riddles."

Legolas smiled. "I do not mean to be cryptic, it is a habit of my father's hall. Aragorn is my friend, and I am his. My instincts in these matters are excellent. It is no more than that."

"With due respect, he looks at you with admiration of the heart, many times a day."

Legolas cast his eyes down for a moment. He sighed and said, "There is no sense in which this will sound anything but immodest, but it seems I must say it. How many times on our journey have you remarked upon the beauty of the mountains, the stars, the sunrise? You see the natural world with the wide eyes of a child. I think it is one of your better qualities." He returned his eyes to Boromir's face. "What of the day you found the river stone you keep in your pocket? Do you not recall precisely where you found it and how smooth and dark it is when wet?"

"I do," Boromir said through dry lips, the color rising in his face.

"My whole life, others have remarked upon the way I look." Legolas shrugged. "Like many others, Aragorn is drawn to look at me as you are to the river stone. He does not want more from me than my friendship, I assure you."

Boromir nodded slowly. "You are extraordinary," he admitted.

"It is my shell. Only that."

"I think not," murmured Boromir. "Thank you just the same for your thoughts." He did not ask what Legolas had thought he was avoiding. Taking his leave, he walked slowly back to the encampment. 

Aragorn's pipe was gone and there was no sign of him or the others. Boromir made his way to the dining hall that had been set aside for them. Judging from the noise that greeted him in advance, all were there but him and Legolas. Drawing himself up, he entered, only to duck and catch a chunk of bread that sailed past. 

"Oh! Sorry, Master Boromir!" exclaimed Sam, flushing bright red.

"Quite alright," replied the man indulgently, taking a bite. "Though I might ask you to butter the next one before you toss it." He caught Aragorn's eye, and the ranger nodded once.

"You've said your piece with the Elf, then?" queried Gimli in a confidential tone audible to the entire hall.

"Aye. It was satisfactory," Boromir replied. "Thank you for your assistance. Clearly, I would never have found him without your stunning insult."

"Don't mention it," Gimli replied, taking a generous quaff of ale.

Boromir took a seat, and moments later, Legolas entered to cheers and hugs. "You've been making yourself too scarce," Pippin cried.

"I shall mend my ways," Legolas answered, "and keep you company from now on."

Toward the end of the meal, Aragorn rose and slowly made for the door. He paused, laying a firm hand on Boromir's shoulder. He said nothing but something in his touch caused Boromir to raise his eyes, only in time to see Aragorn slip out the door. Boromir found Legolas watching him. The elf smiled, a slight, sad smile, and then returned to conversation with Frodo.

"I am missing something, that is for certain," Boromir muttered into his cup. "Must everything be a game of hide and seek?'

After the meal, during which Boromir matched Gimli cup for cup, the man rose somewhat unsteadily and made his way to the privy and back to the encampment by way of one of the fountains. Hair wet, skin cooling, and mind sobering, he found himself again seated with an ever-brooding Aragorn.

"It is sometimes difficult to see the wrongness in one's part," he said.

"Indeed," came the reply with an issuance of smoke.

"You always look for yours, however. I have been taught not to look for mine."

"Confidence is good," Aragorn said.

"Overconfidence is bad."

"So is hesitation."

Boromir nodded. "Legolas thinks I have seen in the two of you something that is not there in order to avoid seeing something else. I cannot for the life of me discern what that would be."

"Did you ask him?" Aragorn's eyes glinted strangely in the flickering light.

"I lost my nerve. I do not know why."

Aragorn glanced about them and then rose to his feet. "Walk a bit with me, and I believe I can help with the answer."

They had not walked far when Aragorn spoke again. "It is perhaps fortunate for me at this moment that we cannot bear arms in Lorien." He eyed a thicket and pushed his way through the tangle.

"Why so?" Boromir asked casually, following. As he stepped through to a tiny, dark clearing, he was forced to brush against Aragorn's side.

"Your retaliation for my transgression will be painful, I am certain, but not lethal."

"Transgression?" Boromir repeated, confused, just before Aragorn's mouth crushed over his. Stunned, he tasted pipeweed and wine and felt a combination of demand and plea that no woman's tongue had ever spoken to his. Rebellion rose in his blood, heat did as well. His fists balled against Aragorn's chest as the other man's arms slid around him but his lips answered differently. As the kiss endured, his hands opened and gripped the fabric of Aragorn's shirt. 

Aragorn's mouth slid away to rest against Boromir's ear. "That was worth it. I am now prepared to withstand the defense of your manhood," he said with some resignation. 

"I do not think it needs defending," murmured Boromir, pressing himself against Aragorn's hip. "What is your opinion?" Aragorn groaned in response and Boromir chuckled. "Legolas misknows me to think I would avoid your attention." His hand slipped down to grasp Aragorn through his breeches. "It is only that you disguised it too well, Ranger." He bit lightly into Aragorn's salty neck. "Gods, to think we have wasted weeks quarreling."

"It did not seem to me either that you would be inclined toward this," Aragorn said, arching his neck into the bites. 

Boromir's hand continued moving. "And while it seemed that you were, I mistook the object. I have been at the Steward's court too long. Ah, what delicious hardness you have for me."

Aragorn whimpered. "If you persist, it will not last."

Growling, Boromir pushed him against a tree. With measured roughness, he took Aragorn's mouth, unlacing breeches with his free hand. Once he grasped bare skin, he moved to his knees and in the dim light, looked his fill while Aragorn's hands slipped through his hair.

"Denethor's sons are expected to behave as befits a Steward and continue the line. I believe I can safely leave the continuation business to Faramir." Hungrily, he engulfed Aragorn and reveled in the stifled noises that ensued. Pausing after a swirl of his tongue that left Aragorn pulsing in near-orgasm, Boromir whispered in jest, "What better magic than to take the essence of the line of kings for my own enjoyment?" Aragorn moaned, not so quietly and Boromir licked him for emphasis. "I will have it from you now, if you will give it." 

"Yes," came the gritted reply.

Boromir returned to play, burying his nose against Aragorn's belly where his scent was hot. When he could hold the edge no longer, he drank, moaning along with the man above him. He saved a last mouthful and unlaced himself in haste. Filling his cupped palm with silvery fluid, he plunged his burning cock into the blissful wet of his hand. 

"No." Aragorn's hand was hard on his shoulder. He looked up. Aragorn made a helpless shrug, then slid to his knees and went to all fours, his breeches pooling about his knees. 

"You cannot mean it," Boromir said, incredulous. Aragorn's shoulders sank to the grass, canting his rear higher. Further invitation was not required. Boromir's wet, cooling fingers tested and were delighted. He angled himself and made the first thrust with confidence. Aragorn groaned sharply. "Have I hurt you?" Boromir asked, sliding a palm up Aragorn's back. 

"Yes," replied Aragorn into the grass. "Do it again. Harder. It will pass."

In the dim of the clearing, with only the glow of the trees to light them, Boromir enjoyed the arch of back, the spill of dark hair, the tension of muscle as Aragorn waited. "Very well," he replied gruffly. Bracing both hands, he gave himself up to the pleasure of fucking someone who didn't mind the hurt. At one point, he reached beneath to assure himself that Aragorn was enjoying himself, as though the sound of him were not reassurance enough. Aragorn's thighs slid open to the limits the tangled breeches would allow, and Boromir was certain if he thrust any harder, the man's spine would snap. But he tried. 

"You make a very fine sheath for a rusty blade," he chuckled. The response was inarticulate. Boromir had a fleeting thought of the other-worldly elf woman who claimed this man's heart. He was tempted to talk, to question, but his body counseled him better not to squander the moment or spoil it. He shifted, giving over to pure sensation, and Aragorn backed against him abruptly, just before spending into the leaves beneath them. Boromir held his breath and executed the sparring pattern of Emon in his mind to keep himself back. "That is twice, Ranger," he breathed at last. "You will owe me."

"I will repay, you twofold," Aragorn replied, "given time."  
*******

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 2005.


End file.
